Mission: Nutcracker

Chapter 16-1

16

Terminus, 19 December 1871

Devon didn’t think the path they took through the sky back to his mansion was the straightest, but Fiona got them there. Once he looked up at the sky after they’d landed, he knew there had been some twists and turns, judging from the rapidly vanishing steam trail, but he hoped it had thrown the horsemen off. Although if they’d gotten a good look at him, they might recognize him from the society papers. Unfortunately, photography had progressed to the point that candid shots were more possible than before.

Once they gently bumped to the ground, Devon leaped out and ran to the house, calling for a doctor to be summoned. Henry Davidson rushed out, then back in to send a message to Chadwick Radcliffe, a physician who had treated many men during the long war. He was also half-n***o, and so more likely to treat Hollowell like any other patient. Devon hated that he had to take such things into consideration, and not just because Hollowell had information they needed.

Some of the maids and footmen came out and brought Hollowell into one of the ground-floor rooms, a small study with a sofa, where they made him as comfortable as possible. They wrapped him in blankets and otherwise ministered to him, and Devon did what he could to stay out of the way. Little Caprice managed to observe and also stay back, but never more than ten feet from Hollowell. Finally, one of the maids offered to bring her to the kitchen to feed her.

“No, thank you, I’ll stay with him,” the little girl said with grave dignity. She spoke like she’d had some education, or at least been around educated people, which made sense if she’d grown up in Tinkerer Hall. Where were her parents? She treated Hollowell more like a friend.

The same maid who had offered to bring her to food instead brought food to her, and Caprice ate, her big dark eyes not leaving Hollowell’s pinched face.

Fiona also stood in the room but sat next to Hollowell and held his hand. Devon could tell they were friends, or at least friendly, and he ignored the stab of jealousy at her easy manner with him. She spoke quietly to the injured man, but of good things and happy memories, not the questions Devon—and, he was sure, she—really wanted to ask. They seemed to have an unspoken agreement not to distress the man and worsen his state. The neuroticists had established that mind and body were indeed one, and having a healthy body meant having a healthy mind. Another strange gift from this long war, like better medicine, animalcule theory, and quicker photography.

Finally, Chadwick Radcliffe arrived with Claire. When Fiona saw her, her eyes widened, and she quickly stood and smoothed her dress, leaving bloody fingerprints that she grimaced at. Therese, who had arrived during the commotion and also sat out of the way, went to Fiona and said, “Come on, I’m sure I can find something that will fit you.”

She didn’t say that between the smoke stains at the hem and Hollowell’s blood, Fiona’s dress was ruined, but Devon suspected it was.

He shot Therese a grateful look as the two physicians shooed everyone out of the room except for Caprice, who insisted on staying. Chadwick looked like he was about to object. His wife put a hand on his arm and gave him a gentle smile, and so he shrugged and relented.

Devon pondered what it would be like to have someone he could communicate with like that, with a gentle touch and a smile conveying unspoken sentences and complete thought. He’d guessed he’d have to settle for some empty-headed ninny, a daughter of a congressman or businessman who was more concerned with fashion than with matters of the intellect. For the first time, he questioned whether she’d find him to be sympathetic and agreeable beyond his position and fortune. And would she find Therese to be a bonus—a ready-made sister—or a burden? He ran a finger around his collar to loosen the anxiety, which of course didn’t leave him.

He waited outside the room until the Doctors Radcliffe emerged.

“Well, he’s quite dehydrated, starving, and pretty beaten up,” Chadwick said. “I think there may be a punctured lung, but it’s hard to tell. Just keep him quiet and don’t move him.”

“Who’s the little girl?” Claire asked. “She’s precious and so smart. She was able to tell us exactly what happened to them.”

Devon tried not to frown, but he clenched his fists behind him in frustration. “What did she say?”

“That they ran from the automatons, who grabbed Hollowell and beat him up to make him cooperate, but he fought back so hard that they had to leave without him or miss the airship. They didn’t see Caprice, who’d hidden.” Claire c****d her head. “This was at the Tinkerer’s Ball?”

“Yes,” Devon told her. “Did she say what her relationship is to him?”

“Niece. Her parents work at the hall and were taken, as far as she knows.”

Devon nodded. “They were pretty indiscriminate as to who they took, but many of the servants escaped. I’ll take her back once we know it’s safe and see if we can find other family.”

“Thank you, but if you don’t mind having her, it’s probably best she stay here with him,” Claire said. “She let me check her out, and she’s merely dehydrated and hungry. It’s fine for both of them to eat, but not too much too fast. They can drink as much as they like.”

“As for the lung, as I said, try to keep him still. And safe.” Chadwick looked at Devon.

Henry, who had been standing nearby, stepped forward. “When do you think he’ll be ready for questioning?”

Claire did something surprising—she put a hand on his arm, as though trying to calm him as she had her husband. “Wait until tomorrow, after he’s rested and regained some of his strength.”

Devon and Henry exchanged an exasperated glance, but both nodded under Claire’s stern gaze. She looked like she could be Fiona’s older sister, but with darker hair and eyes that had seen too much to ever lose a certain sad look. Did she regret her role in developing La Reine, and the hundreds of men it had killed in a matter of hours? It must be hard for a healer, Devon thought, to turn their skills to destruction. How would Fiona feel if she were ever to be in that role?

Or had she caused mortal damage? No, the other woman had killed the nutcracker non-automaton. But were any of them safe? And why was he so concerned with Fiona’s feelings?

“Thank you for coming by,” he said. “I know it’s not the time to discuss such things, but I don’t know if I’ll get the opportunity to speak with you again, so I’d like to invite you to a holiday ball I’m holding at the end of the week.”

“It may be a good idea,” Davidson said. “You’re already trusted in the community, and your perspective and connections will be invaluable.”

“For what?” Devon asked. He wasn’t going to be so gauche as to suggest they could help him find a rich, connected wife. In fact, he doubted they could, even with the help of Claire McPhee Radcliffe’s celebrity. And in any case, at least half the attendees likely hated her for what she had done in the war.

“Mister Meriweather, surely after all this you can’t think you’re not somehow connected to the incident at the Tinkerer’s Ball?”

It took Devon a moment to untangle Henry’s twisting multiple negative. Was that a British thing?

“I’m not connected to it,” he said, allowing his shock to show through in his tone. “In fact, I’ve never encountered a rogue nutcracker in my entire life. I don’t even like the things.”

“No, but you’re familiar with the tinkerers, and you happened to find the young man in the mansion.”

“Fiona—Miss Telfair—found him. After we encountered a strange woman on the stairs.”

“A strange woman?” Davidson arched an eyebrow. “Now there’s a phantom involved.”

“No, she was about this high, dark hair, green eyes, and full of grit, I’ll give her that.” Devon couldn’t hide his admiration. “I hope she got out.”

“If it’s who it sounds like, I’m sure she did.” Davidson did something Devon didn’t think the dour Englishman was capable of—he chuckled, then added, “I’ll assemble the team to sweep Tinkerer’s Hall.” Now Davidson spoke to the Radcliffes, but he fingered his watch chain as though he was pondering something. The briefest of intrigued and then hopeful expressions had flitted across his face when Devon had mentioned the strange woman. “Be on standby in case there are injuries. I only hope there’s still something for us to find.”

Once they’d returned to their flat, Vinni excused herself and ran a warm bath. As basic as their lodgings were, at least they had running water that tended to be warm when they wanted it to be. Once she’d cleaned the smell of soot and sweat from her hair and changed into fresh clothing, leaving what she’d been wearing to dry, she walked into the main living area. Cat sat cross-legged on her cushion, her hands palms-up on her knees, and breathed deeply, her eyes closed. Vinni stopped to look at her, a stab of compassion and some of their old attraction flickering through her. Could they get back what they’d had before? Could Vinni convince Cat to leave the cult with her?

“If you look any harder, you’ll knock me over,” Cat said and opened one eye.

Vinni smirked. “Sorry, it’s been a while.”

Cat uncurled herself from her cushion with surprising grace for someone of her bulk. Vinni watched the muscles ripple under Cat’s forearms—she wore shirtsleeves—and across her broad shoulders. She’d first been attracted to Cat when the two girls had hit puberty, but nothing had happened between them until Cat had consoled Vinni for the ignorant rejection of one of the boys in their cadet class. Then Vinni had found out that Cat had been watching her and wanting her for years. And Vinni had discovered what she had known for a long time—that she liked girls as much as boys.

Vinni and Cat had always been in tune with each other, so maybe, just maybe they could find their connection back. Vinni went to go stand by Cat as she stretched. She smelled of soap and grass and the outdoors. Freedom. Vinni could close her eyes and see them both running away from their current lives on horseback, or in a small airship like the one Fiona and the others had flown off in. What a marvelous thing, the small airship. Vinni added that to her list of things she would like to own someday. When she had left the neo-Pythagoreans and their communal living situation.

Cat paused in her stretching and gave Vinni a wary look. Vinni had to admit it was well-deserved, as she’d rebuffed Cat’s attentions previously. But now she was ready. And perhaps in their post-lovemaking haze, she could convince Cat to come with her. She had to, simply must, leave the organization that had caused her—both of them—so much pain.

Vinni approached Cat with her most seductive smile. The corner of Cat’s mouth turned up, and she held out her arms. Vinni walked into them, expecting to find the same warmth and familiarity that they’d had for the last half-decade. But instead, their thickness felt like a prison. Vinni tried not to stiffen, tried not to reveal her racing heart and her panic. She didn’t want to see the memory of Cat turning her face away from her in shame in the carriage after Uncle Dross had tried to… Well, do to Vinni what he’d done to Cat and countless others. And that Cat hadn’t warned her about but hadn’t expressed contrition for, either.

Cat planted a kiss on the top of Vinni’s head. “You smell good. Not like smoke.”

Vinni turned her face up to Cat’s. The combination of the scents of freedom with the restriction of Cat’s arms made her dizzy. “You smell like outside, like the wind.”

Cat lowered her lips to Vinni’s. Vinni fought not to gag as Cat’s lips disappeared into the memory of Uncle Dross’s. They felt like two worms, or maybe snakes, slithering across her mouth. She stepped back with a gasp.

“What?” Cat asked, her expression hurt. “What did I do?”

Vinni shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s not what you did. It’s what you didn’t do.” She took Cat’s hand. “Run away with me. Let’s leave all this now. Let the boy and girl from this afternoon sort it all out.”

Cat snatched her hand back, and for the first time, Vinni saw fear on her lover’s face. “Leave?” Cat asked. “Leave to go where? To a life where people like us”—she gestured between the two of them—“would never be accepted. We’re misfits, and the neo-Pythagoreans are all we’ve got. The only ones who will take us in.”